


Icarus

by PyrophobicDragon



Series: Bastille [1]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Gen, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, They kiss once, but that's it, but the serum stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrophobicDragon/pseuds/PyrophobicDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik seems to have a bad habit of running into Charles when he's drunk. Or maybe he's drunk all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bastille's [Icarus](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5JaxMaCIw4), because pretty much all of their songs give me Cherik feels.  
> Kinda set mid-DOFP, but AU-ish too. Basically either Erik spent some time at the mansion before they went after Raven or after the Paris disaster, but before the Cerebro disaster, they stayed at the mansion a little bit. Work with me, here.

Erik entered Charles' study and froze when he saw Charles, facing the window, drinking directly from a bottle of vodka. While Charles did drink an awful lot of scotch on the plane both ways, it was always only a few cups at a time. This utter binge threw him off so much he couldn't quite disguise the bewilderment in his voice.

"Charles...? What're you...."

The other glanced over his shoulder. "Getting spectacularly drunk, in case you haven't noticed. I fucking deserve it after what happened the last two days or so." He took another swig and grimaced.

Erik shrugged, trying not to show how the changes in his friend affected him. "Could've been worse."

A scoff. "Cold comfort, now."

Charles then took advantage of the awkward silence to take another swig, then turned around too fast, staggering and falling heavily against the wall, presumably as a consequence of either the drink or the serum wearing off. Erik took a step forward, unsure if his assistance would be welcome. 

"Too drunk to stand, or is it another hit you're craving?" left his mouth before he could register his lips moving. All right, his assistance is definitely unwelcome now.

Charles sighed impatiently. "We're not talking about this. Can I trust you to hand me the kit from my desk?"

Erik grabbed it, resisting the urge to toss it out of the window. It was about trust right now, and besides Beast probably had more squirreled away someplace. He watched Charles go through his routine, revolted at how much it reminded him of druggies he's met in the past.

After the syringe was disposed of, he asked, "Is it wise to mix alcohol and an unknown, hardly-tested serum?"

"I need it." Charles took a shaky breath. "Both of them. The serum for my legs and the drink to distract me from the pain in my back and the emptiness, punctuated only by cries of pain in my head."

Erik stepped back a pace, stunned. He sounded so desperate, so dependent on substances that would do nothing but destroy him. "Charles, you can't- "

"You," he was immediately interrupted, "Cannot say anything about what I can or cannot do. Especially since- since- " he broke off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging between them. _Since it's all your fault anyways._  

They stood in the heavy silence for a long while. Words unspoken, either mentally or verbally, were still perceived from the space between. Finally, Charles deigned to extend an olive branch, gesturing awkwardly towards the chessboard. "Fancy a game?"

Erik eyed him warily. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

He shrugged. "I'm drunk out of my mind, you've touched a chess set once in the last ten years, I think we're pretty even."

"In that case..." He took a seat. "White or black?"

"Black, I think."

***

He was in the kitchen in the middle of the night when he literally tripped over Charles, lying on the floor. "What are you-"

"Hm?" Bleary blue eyes opened a sliver then shut again. "I can't remember how to get to my bedroom. And I made my bed this morning and everything..."

For some reason, this new, physical sign of Charles's weakness pissed him off. "You need to stop this. Get the fuck off the floor, you fucking drunkard."

Charles pouted and opened one eye, but otherwise didn't move. "I'm not a drunkard!"

He couldn't stop a roll of his eyes. "It's two in the morning, you're sleeping in the kitchen because you can't find your way back to your bed, and if you collected all the empty bottles discarded around the house you could probably build a second mansion out of glass."

Charles frowned. "Maybe a little bit?"

He was so done with this. "Maybe a lot."

A sigh. "Fine, I'm a fucking alcoholic." He raised his head off the floor and scowled at Erik. " And I don't see why you're so concerned about my well-being. You certainly weren't in Cuba."

"We're not talking about this now."

"There are a lot of things we're not talking about."

"And we're not going to talk about them until you're halfway sober," he snapped in reply, hauling Charles to his feet. Gods, he was much too light, brittle and fragile, like a glass sculpture. No, more like a well-loved toy: abused and used and finally tossed away to rot when the owner lost interest. He had lost so much weight, as well as muscle mass. He guided Charles out of the kitchen into the hallway. "Come on. I'm taking you to bed."

"I'm not sleepy though..." He mumbled in response as he staggered through the hallways, leaning on Erik. "Why can't we play chess?"

Erik stared at him in disbelief. "It's two AM, you've done your best to drink yourself to death, we are not playing chess right now."

"Fiiine. Be that way, dick."

***

The next time he runs into Charles, he's sitting on the front steps. Drinking, per usual. At least this time it was a flimsy paper cup instead of directly from a bottle.

Erik stood behind him as he spoke. "A cup? Bit of an improvement."

He wasn't even spared a glance. "Bit improper to be drinking right from a bottle on the steps of your childhood home."

Erik cautiously took a seat besides him. "And it's not to improper when it's in the study? Or the library? Or the kitchen? And why are you out here anyways?"

"Generations of drunken Xaivers have done it before." He took a sip, then added, "And sometimes the indoors get too stifling."

He raised an eyebrow. "One would think a house this big would be anything but confining."

He gets a oddly sad look. "There are ghosts in this house, you know. Even without my power I can still feel the remnants of the suffering that happened here."

That was the most information he had ever gotten about Charles' past. "How drunk are you right now?"

Charles frowned into his cup. "I may have one drink. Or four. Or five. Or six. Either way, I doubt I'll be remembering this conversation later."

"And," he added, "I'm definitely drunk enough to do this."

Then he was in his lap and they were kissing for the first time in ten years, and they were kissing to the overwhelming taste of alcohol. Despite everything that was wrong with the situation, when Erik pulled away it was reluctantly. "We can't do this. Not again, and especially not when you're...like this."

Charles shrugged and simply said, "I know."

There was really nothing more to say to that. Except, "Chess?"

That earned him a squint. "Out here?"

"If you want to."

"Why the fuck not? Black, please."

***

He pounded up the steps to the roof. He threw open the small door and squeezed through. Behind him, he can hear Logan huffing up the steps and Hank yelling. As he burst out into the sunlight, he yelled, "Charles!"

Who sat, balanced precariously, on the railing, black king in one hand and serum in the other, gazing down at the hulking satellite miles away. He doesn't acknowledge Erik's presence.

"Charles, what do you think you're doing? Get down!"

Finally, he said, "I wonder if Emma Frost was relieved? When she died, I mean. But then again, she could retreat to her diamond form if she wished for silence."

"What're you..."

By now, Logan had arrived as well. "Hey Professor, you really don't want to be there. Get away from the edge, alrighty?"

He didn't move, as if Logan hadn't spoken at all. "Do you know the concept of resistance?" He transferred his gaze to the serum. "If you keep using the same drug, your cells will eventually become accustomed to it, and it won't work anymore. I can already feel it happening to me. Especially loud voices are starting to leak."

He glanced over his shoulder at Erik and Logan, both frozen in horror. "When you're a telepath, there is no such thing as solitude. Makes you want for the world to be quiet. But when it is, the silence, the lack of anyone else substantial, is deafening. There's a balance, you see, to staying alive and moderately sane. Quiet enough to sleep easy, but loud enough to know that the world is real. But the only way you can truly find peace is in death."

"You're talking bullshit, Charles." Erik steps closer, trying to be subtle. If talking him down didn't work, then he wanted to be close enough to grab him. "You think jumping off this rooftop will help you--help us--find a better future? You still need to help the millions of mutants out there. You have responsibility to our future. That's what you tried to start here, right? A place for people like us to find peace? And now you're just- giving it up?"

Charles whipped his head around, face twisted in anger. "CAN'T YOU HEAR THE FEAR AND THE PAIN? I SAW THE FUTURE, AND THERE IS NOTHING BUT SUFFERING! THIS ENTIRE EXERCISE- LOGAN, YOU, RAVEN- IT'S ALL HOPELESS! YOU WERE RIGHT--PEACE IS NOT AN OPTION!" He seemed to deflate as he whispered, "And at least this way, I won't have to suffer for the next fifty years."

Suddenly incensed, at his own words being thrown back into his face, Erik roared, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO HOPE FOR US, CHARLES, YOU SELFISH SON OF A BITCH!", forgetting momentarily that yelling at a person sitting at the edge of a very, very long fall probably wasn't the best idea. "I'M SUPPOSED TO THE THE PESSIMIST. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE NAIVE, SHELTERED ASSHOLE INSISTING ON A BRIGHTER, BETTER FUTURE. FOR EVERYONE! BUT NOW YOU'RE SAYING ALL THIS BULLSHIT ABOUT ONLY FINDING PEACE IN DEATH- BUT- BUT IF YOU CAN'T HOPE FOR SOMETHING BETTER, NO ONE WILL!"

 As soon as he finished his spiel, a blue blur whipped by him. And Beast was grabbing Charles by the waist with one hand and the railing with the other, preventing him from falling while bodily throwing him back onto solid ground.

In the ensuing struggle, as Logan ran to help Hank pin Charles down (not that he really needed much help, an inebriated Charles was even worse at fighting then one in control of his mental facilities), the serum was dropped on the roof, rolling along the gentle slope to eventually rest against the railing. Erik took two strides and straddled Charles, placing his hands on either side of his face. "Listen to me. Actually, don't- read my mind."

He tried to think of peaceful thoughts. Not that he had many, but he tried to find at least one to share with Charles.  As soon as he latched onto one, he projected it as loudly as possible, hoping the weakening serum would allow his mental shouts to leak through.

Banshee, falling and falling only to fly up, up, up, yelling. Alex, hitting the mannequin situated between Charles and Beast, for once completely in control of his power. The look on all the young mutants' faces, the look on their pupils' faces, when they realized that they are not alone.

The power, the exhilaration, as the giant satellite slowly turns to face the mansion. Finding that point between rage and serenity, finally coming to his full potential.

Charles had stopped moving, his eyes squeezed shut. At the very edge of his mind, he could feel a weak reply:

Reaching through cold water, reaching for an extraordinary mind, drawing it back up to the surface and saying, "You are not alone."

He rested his forehead against Charles', who whispered, "We lost them all, Erik. We lost them all and you abandoned me."

He shut his eyes against the sudden rush of sorrow. "Hank was here. He was here for you. And now I'm back. I'm sorry. We can fix this, Charles, We can fix this together."

He could fell Charles shaking his head. "No. There is nothing to fix. There is no future."

"Just breathe, Charles." He pressed them closer together. "There is. There will be. I promise."

Dimly, he registered Beast saying, "Professor, I'm going to administer a mild sedative, just so you can sleep, alright? You rest for a little bit."

He kept mumbling empty words, meant to comfort, as Hank inserted a needle into Charles' veins and put the Professor to sleep.

***

He put on his hat and closed the bedroom door. There was nothing he needed except the clothes on his back. He had stuck around long enough, now he needed to get his armor together and end this little game.

He was halfway to the front door when Charles exited his study and stopped abruptly. "You're leaving?"

The unspoken  _me_ hung in the air. He noticed Charles winced at how plaintive he sounded.

"I- We need to go our separate ways, Charles. Our goals- our methods- are not the same."

Charles glanced down at his empty hands. Erik noticed that he wasn't holding some sort of drink, for once, but was unsure what that said about Charles' sobriety. He started out of his musing when Charles spoke. "Ah, yes. I forgot. That bullshit about fixing this together was just that- absolute bullshit."

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Charles waved his hand airily. "No, no, it's fine, feel free to leave anytime you choose. I'm used to it by now."

Then he disappeared back into his study. Frozen in place, Erik felt the metal hinges on the drink cabinet move forwards and back again.

Against his better judgement, he walked over to the study, nudging the heavy door open. Charles started, almost dropping the bottle he was holding. He capped it and placed it down on the desk. "Is there something you need? If you want money, I'm sure I have some cash lying around here-"

Erik cut him off. "One more game?"

"I- Sure, black."

"I know."

They sat in silence, saying nothing except the occasional "Check." But halfway through, Erik stood up abruptly and announced, "We will have to continue this some other time, Charles."

He watched as blue eyes widen in confusion for a moment before realization dawns instead. "Very well, my friend. I hold you to that."

He was two towns over before it hits him: Charles called him  _my friend._

***

Coda

***

He makes his way up the drive, helmet tucked underneath his arm. A familiar presence hovers in the back of his mind- less of a purposeful intrusion and more of a dimly-aware blanket. Somewhere to his left, three young children are running around, supervised by a blond man. He can feel the Alex Summer's glare against his back, but it appears that Charles had called him off before he could make a move.

He enters the study, now immaculate, with all traces of binge-drinking scoured away. He sets his helmet on the desk. barely daring to meet Charles' eyes. When he risks a glance, they are warm, and he is smiling. He nods at the chessboard. "I'm afraid our new students knocked over the board in a fit of excitement, and I can't quite remember the proper positions for the life of me. Are you terribly opposed to starting over?"

He feels a grin slowly creeping up. "Not at all, my friend. White or black?"

He gets an even broader smile in reply. "White, I think, today." 

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda awful. I'll probably edit it at some point.  
> I'm lucky enough to have never been in a situation where I'm sad enough to want oblivion, whether through alcohol or even taking my own life. That being said, I tried the best I could to portray Charles' desperation. I apologize for the numerous inaccuracies that are undoubtedly there. To those who do have to struggle with themselves: You are incredibly strong to fight against yourself and win everyday. I admire you.


End file.
